To Be The One
by errantry
Summary: Destiel AU. Dean Winchester doesn't know how much time he has left. He takes a trip to London where he meets Castiel. I'm bad at summaries and titles.


Dean shifted on the examination table, the protective paper creating a loud scrunching sound under his weight that echoed off of the pristine white walls and back into his ear drums. The anxiety he tried so hard to suppress grew as his eyes drifted over the various diagrams that hung on the walls. Dean's feet hovered inches above the tiled floor, he allowed them to swing slowly beneath him. He cracked his knuckles, whistled, anything to keep calm. His heart beat rose in his throat as the door swung open, the cold from behind the door creeping up his legs, making the dark hairs stand on edge. Dean shivered and studied his doctor. He was young with dark brown hair, he peered down at a chart. Dean noticed how the doctor's brow furrowed. _This is bad, _Dean thought, _what am I going to say to Sam?_ A sweat broke out on his palms as his doctor drew in a breath and sat, the wheels on his chair squeaked as he got closer and continued flipping back and forth on the chart.

"Well, Dean," Dr. Dorian said calmly, "from your x-rays we have concluded that the mild discomfort you've been feeling is just a slight disorder."

Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead, his heart beat fast in his chest, "terminal? It's terminal isn't it? Oh, god."

"No, no, no, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Take a deep breath, Dean, you'll be fine," Dean rubbed his eyes, inhaling a shaky breath, "it's in your Central Nervous System. We are not entirely sure how it developed but it must have been from the infection you came in with a few weeks back," Dean's breathing quickened, "it's manageable. I'm putting you on a medication to keep from it developing further."

"How long do I have? A year? Less than that?"

"Mr. Winchester, you're going to be fine. Take the medication and nothing fatal will happen. Come back in two weeks and we'll see how you're responding. We'll take more x-rays and blood work. You're free to go." The doctor handed Dean his prescription and forms outlining his diagnosis.

Sitting in the waiting room was his younger brother, Sam. Nestled in the corner, his long legs splayed out, he flipped the pages of an old magazine. The double door across the room swung open, hitting the wall behind them with a harsh _thump. _Sam looked up to see his brother making a B-line towards him, with a distressed look on his face.

"How did it go?" he asked, throwing the magazine aside and standing.

"I'm dead!" his brother announced loudly. Strangers peeked up from their magazines to stare at the brothers. Sam politely smiled looking around the room briefly before snatching the papers out of Dean's hand and dragging his older brother out into the parking lot.

"I'm dead, I'm so dead. Dead. Gone forever," Dean repeated in the background as Sam studied the forms.

"You're not dying, you idiot," Sam said turning to his brother who was pacing around the car, "it's manageable, I'm sure the doctor told you that. We'll manage, Dean."

Dean continued to ignore any form of reason. His anxiety blinding and deafening him, which was a common occurrence. "When I'm gone you can have her," he said, gesturing to his beloved Impala, "baby, I'm sorry." Dean opened his arms wide and leaned down, resting his chest against the hood of the car and breathing heavily. He was suddenly hoisted up by a large set of hands.

"You're not dying!" Sam said, gripping his shoulders and shaking him.

"I could be dying!" Dean argued.

"The only way you're going to die would be from me running you over with this car," Sam said, taking the keys from Dean's pocket and opening the door, "get in." Dean stared out of the window as the sun began setting over the horizon.

The next day when they pulled into the pharmacy to pick up his prescription he sulked next to Sam as they stood in front of the cereal in the tiny drug store. "You'll be fine, Dean," Sam told him.

"Remember when I planned that trip to London a year ago?"

"Yup," Sam said and placed a box of cereal into the cart.

"I think I'll go. I'll really go."

"You're not going to take this diagnosis as a life changing revelation are you?"

"Yes, actually, I am. I need to change, I know I do. I have to be a better brother, while I still have time left. Why not be spontaneous?"

"Dean, you are a good brother and you never were spontaneous. Just pick a cereal so we can go home." Sam sighed.

"Just get the Special K. Now is my chance to change!" Dean announced. "Everything is going to change, I promise you, little brother!" Dean unsuspectingly threw his arms around Sam's torso and hugged tight, crushing the cereal box between their torsos.

After two weeks of decision and the okay from his doctor, Dean was ready. Over the weeks a numbness had set in, Dean was accustom to it from past experiences, but he wasn't expecting that feeling so soon. "Come back in one piece, okay?" Sam had said to him, "try to have fun and let go a little." In a foreign land with endless possibilities, one should feel a sense of wonder or feel something at lead. Dean hadn't felt much since he'd been diagnosed. He hoped traveling and getting away from everything and everyone would light a spark in him. He only found himself drifting through customs and staring out of the window of the cab. When he booked his flight and found an apartment to live in for a few months, he did feel a hint of something. The feeling could have been excitement, Dean didn't know, he just knew it was _something_. Sam had started viewing his older brother as neurotic rather than reserved like he was before their parent's had passed away. They died in a fire five years ago, to Sam, it was like he had lost a part of his brother along with them. Sam had felt the sorrow and depression hard, but the hardest part of losing them was seeing Dean recoil into himself.

At the funeral Sam saw the life drain from Dean. Dean, who was once a carefree man, a person that would do anything fearlessly became this quiet, scared individual. Dean tried to keep all this hidden, the anxiety, panic attacks, the nightmares, but Sam knew. He knew and he saw how Dean had gotten better over time. Sam thought he was going to see Dean relapse into the anxiety paralyzed man he once was, but he was in awe when Dean brought up traveling. His brother was naive and scared, thinking he was going to die, but maybe the old Dean was coming back, maybe he was changing. Sam had hope for his brother, he only wanted to see him happy again.

There are things Sam didn't know. He didn't know of the guilt Dean had felt after their parents died. Guilt from not being stronger, he felt selfish that he wasn't there for his baby brother when he should have been. Dean thought of all this as he walked into an old London apartment building. A musky smell filling his senses snapped him back into the present away from his thoughts. He dropped his backpack onto the ground with a loud thump, and tapped the bell that was a top the front desk. Waiting for the landlord, he rested his head against his hand, his body leaning against the tall desk. Exhaustion and jet lag made his eyes drift shut. Moments passed when an unfamiliar scent of oranges pulled him from breaching unconsciousness.

"Do you believe in fate?" A thick accented voice said from beside him. Dean shifted only now realizing the warmth of another body next to him. Heat made its way from his back to his neck, turning the white skin pink. His heart beat quickened and rose in his throat.

"What?" Dean's eyes drifted open and was met with a pair of striking blue's. The man's posture was confident, his hair gently tousled and stubble lined his jaw. _Relax and take a few risks_ his brother's voice echoed in his head.

The man licked his lips and grinned, "you're dashing...and stood in the lobby of my apartment building like a present. This has to be predetermined, don't you think? You're even wearing a _Lord of the Rings_ shirt, that's my favorite trilogy, come on. It's destiny, I'm telling you." Dean was taken a back by the forwardness of this strange man and he couldn't find the words to reply.

"Scaring the new tenants, Cas?" a woman with long dark hair dropped a key in front of Dean, "welcome to the building."

"I'm not scaring him, I was planning on helping him with his bags, Miss Talbot." The man reached down and slug Dean's backpack over his shoulder in a swift motion, "I'm Castiel." The man escorted Dean up to the third floor.

"Dean," he glanced at him.

"Small world, we're on the same floor," Castiel said with a sly smile, "Did you just move here from America?"

"Only for a few months," they walked in unison to Dean's new apartment. His heart still racing at the sudden encounter with this man, he felt Castiel's eyes on his back as he unlocked the door and pushed his bags in, "thank you for the help."

"Anytime, green eyes." Castiel walked down the hall before Dean could say anything. His pulse steadied as he walked around his new place. The flat smelled musky just like the rest of the building, it was small with grey walls. It had a tiny bathroom and a kitchen stocked with stale tea bags. Dean hung up his shirts on wire hangers and stuffed jeans into a drawer. After settling the rest of his belongings around the apartment he hovered over the sink, swallowing two pills and rubbing his eyes. _This sucks, _he thought. He was thinking he shouldn't have come, his feelings hadn't changed, he still felt...nothing. He yawned and staggered to the bedroom. The day's events flooded through his mind as he settled his head against a pillow: the panic attack on the first plane, the wretched plane food, and the encounter with the odd man. _Castiel. _He wondered if he'd see him again, with his luck, probably not.

"Sorry I didn't call. I passed out when I got in," Dean had a newly activated cellphone to his ear and a shopping basket in the other. He maneuvered through bodies, trying to find his way to the cereal aisle, "it's just weird. I don't feel any different."

"You need to relax," his brother said over the phone, "I can hear the tension in your voice. Go get drunk...I don't know, do _something_. Just stop thinking and have a little fun. Let go." They hung up, Dean promising to try his best to loosen up. It wasn't that easy, Dean knew it. As he stood in from of the shelves of tea he began thinking. Thinking that he could die without really having lived, loved or taken chances. All the things he'd missed. All the fun and the happiness. Sam kept kept tellling him he wasn't going to die but maybe a part of him wanted to.

"Hey, green eyes," a tap came down on his shoulder, " remember me?"

"Of course I remember you," Dean said turning to Castiel. He waited for the familiar anxiety to creep through him but nothing happened. "How are you?"

"Can't complain," he said stooping down and plucking down boxes of tea from the shelf, "you should try this, it's great." Dean noticed the dark circles under Castiel's red eyes, noticed how his posture had changed, his shoulders slumped slightly, like he hadn't slept. "Are you settling in alright?"

"Yes, so far so good. I have to say, you are one of the friendliest people I've ever met," Dean said as they walked to the checkout line.

"Thank you, it doesn't hurt to be nice. If you'd like, I could show you around sometime." Dean nodded his head and thought _maybe coming to London was a good idea_.

That night, Dean took Sam's advice. He wasn't good at managing his anxiety but he was good at drinking. He plowed through a six pack and was getting restless. He walked across the street to a bar, he wasn't expecting to see a familiar face behind the bar. The place was empty and Castiel was wiping down the counter when Dean sat down.

"Whiskey," he ordered, "double."

"Oh, hey, Dean. Weird running into you here." Castiel set a drink down in front of him, ignoring the obvious smell of beer coming off of the other man.

"I'm not in the mood for talking." Castiel frowned, surprised by the cold shoulder. Castiel didn't think Dean was a drinker given how warm he had been the previous times they've run into each other. Dean stared down at his now empty glass with a sadness that Cas couldn't ignore, "can I get another?"

"Is there something wrong?"

"I'm not going to talk about my bullshit problems to a goddamn bartender. Just get me another drink." Castiel poured whiskey into a glass and slid it over to Dean. He left him alone, walking around the bar and began cleaning tables. _Let go _Dean thought of his brother's words.

It was quiet for a long time before Dean spoke, "Do you want to know why I'm really here?" Castiel was silent behind him. "I was diagnosed with a disease, something to do with my central nervous system. My brother says I'm not going to die but maybe I want to," Dean's voice broke and he let go, his tears falling, "maybe I do want to. I'm a horrible brother, I'm burdened with crippling anxiety, my parents are dead, I've never even been in loved." He started shaking, the first real emotion he's shown since he got diagnosed overtaking him. Castiel didn't know what to do or say, he stood behind Dean watching his shoulders shake with sobs as he continued, "maybe this is what's supposed to happen, you know. I'll die then my brother can stop worrying. Since my parent's died it's just gotten worse and worse, maybe death would be an escape." Castiel sat down next to Dean and put an arm around him.

"I know...I know how it feels to want to die." Dean blinked tears out of his eyes to look at Cas. "I know how it feels to feel worthless. I know how the emptiness feels. You're not worthless, Dean. You're here. Right now. You fought your anxiety, got on a plane, completely alone, and you're here. Embrace it, Dean. You may not see it right now, but all you've been through, the pain, anxiety, everything, has made you stronger, because it brought you here. All your mistakes, it lead you to this moment. Sure, it may seem like a pretty bad moment, but when you come out of it, you're going to look back and see how you made it through."

Dean turned his head and looked down, tears still falling, "I-I don't even know you."

"You can get to know me. I relate to a lot of what you're saying. You see, my parents-my whole family, actually, died. In a car crash. They were there and then gone, in an instant. Both my parents, my brothers and my sister. Gone. I-I feel like it should have been me, not them. Dean, you're not the only one. You might feel like you are but you're not. I bet your brother loves you, I bet you're a great guy. Come on," Cas stood, helping Dean up, "I'll take you home." Dean stumbled, and leaned against Castiel's body. His head was spinning, all he focused on was the warmth of Castiel's hand on his hip and how he smelled of oranges. Castiel led him across the street and up the stairs to the third floor. "Key?" they stood in front of Dean's door.

"Right pocket," Dean slurred, too drunk to fish the key out himself. He leaned in subconsciously when he felt Castiel's hand slide into his pocket to find the key. Castiel chuckled, "let's not get excited."

Dean sat down on the bed. Castiel knelt down and pulled off Dean's boots for him, when he moved to leave Dean grabbed him hand, "thank you," he said, gently tugging, wanting so much to feel Castiel's lips against his own. Instead, he ruffled Dean's hair and told him to go to sleep.

The next day, Dean felt horrible, emotionally and physically. He had made a fool of himself and chose to apologize to Castiel. He stood at his door, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, I'm really sorry about last night. I was stupid drunk and I shouldn't have unloaded on you like that," Castiel's eyes were red when he opened the door.

"Come in for some tea," Castiel said, angling the door open. Dean stepped into the wide kitchen and sat at the table, "it's okay, you know. We all have our demons." Castiel poured tea into two cups and set them down on the table.

After a few moments of silence Dean finally spoke, "since you know a lot about me, tell me your story."

"Where to begin," Castiel moved the tea bag around in his mug, "like I said last night, my family died in a car accident. I feel a lot of remorse, you know, for not being a better son. I feel like I should have done more. It's coming up on a year since they died," Castiel blinked away tears, holding them back, "nothing is the same. I need something new, something different, something to make life worth living." Dean suddenly felt a jolt in his heart that connected him to Castiel.

"I'm looking for the same thing," Dean whispered.

"Enough sob stories, okay Dean?" Castiel got up and leaned against the kitchen counter, "have you seen much of the city?"

"None at all, actually."

"That has to change." Casiel took him through London's narrow streets of shops and homes. He took Dean into his favorite coffee shop, bought him dinner at his favorite restaurant, gleefully took a photo of him standing in front of 221b Baker Street. When night fell they sat at a table outside of a cafe sharing a slice of cake.

"So what do you think of the city?"

"Amazing!" Dean said. He felt that feeling in his heart that had been missing for so many years. He felt the childlike wonder again that he had missed for so long. This must have been what destiny had chosen for him, to be sitting across from a man that was so broken. He was broken too. Fate must have brought them both here to put each other back together again. A string of lights twinkled above them, illuminating Castiel's cheekbones as he grinned back at him, "you never told me what you do in your spare time."

"Ah, well. I very much enjoy drinking tea and chatting up American men in my spare time."

Dean chuckled, "being charming is also among your hobbies, I'm guessing. What else?"

"I like poetry, I play the violin and the piano, and I sketch sometimes. How about you?"

"A man of many talents, I like it. What do I do in my spare time?...hmmm," Dean looked around at the people walking by then back at Cas, "I'm an editor at a magazine so I read. I work on my car a lot, it helps my anxiety. That's it really. I get nervous all the time and the weird thing is, with you, I'm not nervous." Castiel smiled back at him. They stayed and talked until a waiter told them the place was closing. They stood in front of Castiel's door.

"Thanks for showing me around," Dean said.

"No problem, I had a good time with you," they stood in awkward silence for a while before Dean closed the gap between them with a hug. He inhaled Castiel's, now familiar, scent. When they broke apart, he turned to walk away but a hand cupped his jaw. Castiel leaned in fast, meeting Dean's lips in a slow and steady kiss. Dean melted into him, pulling Cas' hips toward his own. Never parting from Dean's lips, he reached behind him, opened the door and led Dean inside. Castiel pinned him against the wall, one leg pressed between Dean's, his mouth sucking bruises onto the flesh of his neck, he felt Dean's pulse quicken under his tongue. Then Castiel stopped himself and broke apart from Dean. He gently tugged Dean's arm, leading him to the bedroom. They both kicked off their shoes, Cas pulled down the comforter on the bed and they lied down facing each other. Castiel lazily caressed Dean's back as their legs tangled together under the blanket.

"I think I really like you, Cas," Dean whispered as Castiel's eyes drifted shut.

"I think I really like you, too," Castiel whispered back, pulling Dean closer to him. Dean tightened his arms around the man's waist, his cheek pressing against the fabric of his shirt.

Castiel's eyes flew open, the image of a totaled car fresh in his mind. His head rested on Dean's chest, he felt Dean's heart beating slow and steady under the palm of his hand. He sighed, thinking he was lucky he didn't wake up screaming this time. On nights like these, most nights, actually, he would walk down to an old apartment building. Overgrown with weeds, it was the perfect place for Castiel not to be seen or heard. In the basement he would sit against a wall and he would play. The sound of his violin would sooth his nerves and erase the images of his dying family from his mind. Tonight was different. A man was lying in his bed, which was a huge change of pace for Castiel. He didn't want to move from the warmth of Dean's body, but he was afraid to fall asleep again. He disentangled carefully away from Dean, who stirred and then turned over. Castiel was still fully dressed when he got up from the bed. He pulled his shoes on and peered at the clock that stood on the night stand, 6:17. His nightmares usually woke him up much earlier. It seemed as though Dean's presence had calmed him, disrupting his usual subconscious thoughts. He walked down to a store on the corner of the block, his kitchen lacked the breakfast items Castiel was in need of. He picked up bacon, eggs, and pancake mix from the tiny shop, before returning to the apartment he stopped at a cafe and grabbed two coffees.

The flat was still silent when Castiel set down the coffee and groceries on the counter. He quickly got to work mixing pancake mix, beating eggs and laying strips of bacon on a hot griddle. The scent of a home cooked breakfast filled the apartment, Cas wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliarity of it. He doesn't remember the last time he cooked in his own kitchen. A pair of arms wrapped around his waist, breaking him away from reminiscence.

"It smells good." Dean's body pressed against Castiel's. Dean's cool lips pressed kisses against his neck as he continued cooking. Dean moved away and picked up one of the coffee's and sipped. Castiel felt Dean's eyes on him as he flipped pancakes down on two plates.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, putting the plates down on the small wooden dining table.

"I've never had this...waking up to someone cooking breakfast for me. It's strange...but a nice kind of strange," Dean said, sliding into a chair.

"Get used to that feeling."

"I didn't know you could cook," Dean said, chewing on his bacon.

"I used to cook a lot for my family. Sunday nights I would cook dinner with my little sister, Anna. I liked to teach her. I remember her eyes, how she would watch me, they would get big with excitement. She thought I was the best cook in the world. My brother, Gabriel, would bake pies. I remember my mom would peek into the kitchen to check on us. I miss it. Cooking for someone," Castiel stood up, rubbing his eyes. He stood facing the sink, his back turned to Dean, sipping his coffee. He heard a chair skid back across the floor, then felt Dean's hand on his back. "I miss them. It's been the longest, hardest year of my life. Why wasn't it me, Dean?" Castiel turned and burrowed his face in the crook of Dean's neck, his arms clutching his back. Dean was silent, he didn't have the answers and he wish he did.

"I-I wish I knew how to make it better," Dean said.

"You are. You are making it better. You make me feel something other than emptiness."

That night Castiel leaned against the bar slowly wiping it with a cloth, smiling as he did so.

"It's nice to see you smile for once," Crowley said from behind him, "so, tell me about him."

"He's...different. Broken. Lonely."

"Similar to you, then, maybe you both can pick up the pieces of each other's lives." Castiel had started working at the bar years before his parents died. Crowley had witnessed the dramatic shift in Castiel's character. Castiel was once happy and carefree, as Dead had been. Crowley was older, viewed Cas as an impressionable young man. He wouldn't admit it himself, but seeing Cas spiral down like he did, hurt him more than Castiel would ever know. He would walk into the bar and see Castiel staring blindly at the wall, eyes red and tear stained. Crowley didn't know how to fix him. Seeing him smile, after almost a year of emotionless days, brought joy back into the bar after so many months of bleakness.

Dean had two weeks left in London. They never mentioned it, not over breakfast, not at the bar, not when they lied down with their bodies pressed together. Not once. Dean walked up to an old theatre. He saw Castiel's figure, the street was dark and bare. His footsteps were loud on the cobblestone, Cas turned and smiled when he saw him. Dean realized then, as the light of the marquee outlined the contours of Castiel's bone structure, he was happy. For six years he felt either numbness or crippling pain, but now when Cas cupped his face and kissed him, he felt joy flood through his heart. He held Castiel's hand as he got the tickets and thought, _if I die right now, it would be okay, because I would be with him. His face would be the final thing I see before my last breath. _Castiel knew, he felt a surge of electricity course from Dean's veins to his own when Dean had gripped his hand. Something had sparked through them both. Castiel wanted to deny his happiness, since it was such a foreign feeling, but it was there, enveloping his heart. They sat down as the projector clicked on, the sound of it's squeaking soothing them both. All was well. They were both happy, finally.

Castiel took Dean to dinner on his last night in London. Sadness hung over the table as they ate in silence. When dessert came Castiel reached his arm across the table, without a word, and gripped Dean's hand. They walked home, hand in hand, and looked up at the old buildings, listening to each other's soft breaths.

They stood in Castiel's bedroom, their kisses were soft and delicate. Castiel's lips warm against Dean's, his hand caressing Dean's face. His shirt was pushed down past his shoulders and onto the floor, Dean's lips pressing against his neck. Castiel dragged Dean's shirt up over his head and touched the bare skin of his chest. Dean pulled Castiel's belt free and unzipped his pants, Cas crushed their lips together, his tongue licking into Dean's mouth. Dean kicked off his pants and they fell onto the bed.

The sky was dark in the morning. Their fingers were laced together the entire ride to the airport. They stood in front of security, arms wrapped around each other tight, both fighting tears.

"Don't go," Castiel said, tightening his arms around Dean.

"I'll call you when I land." Dean kissed him long and slow, wishing he could stay. When they parted Castiel watched him go through security and continue walking through the sea of people until he blended in.

It was four AM when Castiel's phone buzzed loudly on the wooden end table beside his bed. "Hello"?"

"Hey, this is Castiel, right?" An unfamiliar voice said over the phone.

"Yes, yes it is." He sat up.

"This is Sam, Dean's brother. I figured you should know that something happened," Castiel immediately got up, and pulled on a pair of jeans and shoved on his shoes, "when he landed here, he collapsed. I'm at the hospital now, they're saying it was a stroke."

"He sounded fine when I talked to him. How-"

"I know. I talked him to him too, he's crazy about you. That's why I called, you seem pretty important in his life now. I'll call you if I hear anything else." When he hung up with Sam he called the airport looking for a flight. He shoved most of his closet into a bag and scribbled out a note for his landlord. Luck was with him when he found a flight leaving in an hour and a half. The airport was quiet, the rain pounded against the large windows as Castiel exchanged his money for American dollars. He sat and called Sam for the name of the hospital which he wrote onto his hand.

After an excruciatingly long layover and second flight, he finally landed. He was exhausted but very determined. A cab took him to the hospital and he stood at the desk of a nurses station when he heard it. A voice was calling out to him from down the hall, it got louder and more frantic the closer he got to it. There Dean was, with an IV in his arm, a nurse stood beside him trying to him down.

"Dean, I'm here. I'm right here." Castiel cupped his face, his eyes were hooded and vacant. Dean held onto his arms and repeated Castiel's name until his eyes shut and he drifted to sleep. Castiel still hovered over him soon after he had fallen asleep. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes. He looked so weak.

"You're the one?" Someone asked from behind him. Castiel stood up straight and turned. A tall man with shaggy brown hair stood before him. "I'm Sam. You came all the way here?"

"I had to."

"You know, it was weird, the way he talked about you. There was something different in his voice," Sam said as he walked over to the bed.

Cas stayed at Dean's bedside that night, an uncomfortable chair pulled next to it. Dean's hand was limp in Castiel's grip. In the morning Sam gently shook him awake, told him to stretch his legs and go eat something. Cas walked slowly down to the cafeteria, his back ached and he had to force his eyes from closing. Uninterested in any food, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back. When he approached Dean's room again Sam walked out.

"He doesn't remember you're here," Sam whispered to him. Castiel walked in the room, Dean was rubbing his eyes.

"Time for your sponge bath, green eyes."

"Cas? Cas!" Dean tried to get up, but clutched his head and settled down again."How did you get here? How are you here?" Castiel didn't say anything, just ruffled his hair and kissed him, "you came all this way for me?"

"You're important, Dean."

"When do you have to leave?"

"I'm not leaving. I bought a one way ticket."

"But your apartment. What about your job?"

"I'm sure my stuff can be shipped out here. I don't care about my job. I don't care if I'm homeless. I only care about you. Stop worrying about me and rest." Dean scooted over on the bed and pulled Cas down. They faced each other on the small mattress. "I'm so happy you're okay, Dean. You have no idea what went through my mind." Dean ran his hand up and down Cas' arm slowly.

"I want to start over with you, Cas. We could move and start a family. No more pain."

Sam pulled his car into the parking lot of a diner. He walked up and opened the wooden door. The place was new, the inside looked old fashioned. Wooden tables and chairs, a counter with red stools in the front, there was a wide open area where bands played and people danced. It was early, you could hear the birds chirping through the screen door. The large skylights casted a glow down onto the dark hardwood floor, Sam's boot heels were loud against it. A few people sat at tables around the place, Sam eyed them as he sat at the counter. A few moments passed when the door to the kitchen swung open.

"Uncle Sam!" A little girl with shoulder length dark hair and piercing green eyes ran up to him excitedly.

"Hey there, Mary." Sam pulled her up on his knee. "How are you today?

"Good! Daddy is teaching me how to cook!"

"Sammy!" Dean swung open the screen door. "How was Paris? You have to tell me about it," Dean was holding a small child against his hip, a few papers were in his other hand, "Mary, go get your daddy for me." Mary hurried back into the kitchen.

"Paris was great. Beautiful city." Castiel emerged from the kitchen with little Mary.

"Sam, it's so good to see you! How's my little Gabriel?" Cas kissed Dean on the cheek and took Gabe from his hold.

"You have to sign the adoption papers, I brought them over."

"Who's watching the store?"

"Ruby is, don't worry about it."

"Did I come at a bad time?" Sam interjected.

"No!" Castiel said, "I'll sign the papers after I make you boys some breakfast. Mary, take Sam over to a table." They all ate breakfast together, Sam talked of his traveling, Dean spoke of how well both their businesses were doing. Sam was still overjoyed about how well Dean was doing. How well they all were doing. Everything was right. There finally was no pain.


End file.
